


Occupational Hazards

by kth



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2019-07-04 08:59:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15838029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kth/pseuds/kth
Summary: “If you wanted to catch up you could’ve just sent an owl, Weasley.”Featuring Ron Weasley the auror drop out, Draco Malfoy the biochemist, and a potions mystery that only Harry Potter can solve.





	Occupational Hazards

Ron doesn’t often admit it but he loves his little office at the Ministry. The Non-Magical and Un-Wizarding Trades, Services, and Academics Center, or as most people call it, The NUTSAC, is tucked into the back corner of a musty hallway in the Muggle Relations Department on the 15th floor. In addition to the three cubby-hole-sized offices there’s a small reception area with a front desk that has never been staffed and several couches that Ron is fairly certain were brought back from a dark artifacts raid. 

Officially, Ron’s position was created to deal with wizards who wished to pursue non-magical careers or education. It used to be that you could wander off into the world post-Hogwarts and perform whatever job you wanted, but that had led to some nightmarish outcomes and a hell of a lot of obliviation. Now Ron’s office issues permits to wizards pursuing jobs in the muggle world, checks in with them regularly to make sure there’s no misuse of magic or breach of the Statute of Secrecy. 

Unofficially Ron views his job as a means to mitigate the rapidly rising unemployment rates in wizarding communities; there’s really only so many wandmakers and dragon handlers that are needed, and between the goblins, dementors, and house-elves, nearly half of magical jobs are performed by non-wizards. So he does his best to educate and promote non-traditional careers, even though it’s slow going. Last week a sobbing witch had shown up at his office yelling that he’d seduced her son into dentistry. 

He starts this particular January morning dealing with a wizard employed by a muggle public works department who keeps using levitating charms during garbage collection, followed by his quarterly check-in with a witch named Maisy Reynolds who produces muggle films. She often gets glowing reviews like, _“Almost too magical to believe!”_ which is kind of borderline and there’s a rumor that she may be nominated for an Oscar this year so he really wants to sort out some boundaries. 

At noon Ron takes his lunch break, eating the tuna salad sandwich he brought from home at his office desk and listening to _Broom Talk_ on his portable wireless. His 1:30 appointment is a no show which means he may have to send a howler later but overall he’s quite relaxed and caught up on the day’s paperwork when Draco Malfoy walks through the door. 

“Malfoy?” Ron says dumbly. 

“Obviously,” Draco replies. 

He looks almost the same as when they were in school, if Ron’s honest, except that his hair is a little bit longer and Ron thinks he looks more relaxed than he’d ever been in school, most of the tension he used to carry gone completely. He’s dressed in jeans and a slubby gray jumper that Ron thinks the Malfoy he knew would probably not be caught dead wearing.

“Are you the biochemist I have on my schedule then?”

“I am. But Weasley, there’s been some mistake, I don’t use magic in my work at all. I don’t even carry a wand to the lab.”

“Ah, right,” Ron says. “Doesn’t matter. The new guidelines require all muggle-employed wizards to undergo monitoring by my office and actually, you’re supposed to have a work permit.”

“I think you’ve just called me here for, for harassment purposes,” says Draco, although his heart doesn’t really seem in it. 

“Believe me, with the number of forms I’m going to have to file on your behalf I’d only be harassing myself. Malfoy--Draco--why don’t you have a seat?”

Draco drops himself into the admittedly dreadful chair across from Ron’s desk and runs a hand through his hair. 

“Weren’t you in auror training with Potter?” 

Draco actually doesn’t look interested in the answer. Instead he seems to be taking in the wall behind Ron, reading the plaque commemorating five outstanding years of service to the Muggle Relations Department, scanning the multitude of framed photos; the Weasleys on their last family trip, several blonde heads mixed in with the red now that Bill and Fleur have a small brood of their own; Ron, Harry, and Hermione at Hogwarts graduation, Harry in the middle with an arm around each of them; a candid shot of Ron and Harry, mud-covered with brooms in hand after a pick-up quidditch game. 

“Dropped out,” Ron replies. “Lasted 6 months. Probably shouldn’t have been let in to begin with but, you know. Harry.”

That seems to perk Draco up considerably. “Hm,” Draco says. “Did Potter get you this job too?”

“Er, my dad, actually,” Ron says, turning pink beneath his freckles. “This office was only opened seven years ago, I was the first employee.”

When Ron started up The NUTSAC his first order of business had been to take a census of all the wizards working in muggle jobs or attending muggle schools. He thought it would only be a handful but it took him nearly a year and a half to track them all down and halfway through he’d had to hire an intern for data entry, then later a full time employee, Kara, who now mostly covers the academics division. 

Ron clears his throat. “Since I don’t have a file on you, why don’t you tell me what you’ve been up to for the past few years and how you came to your current position.”

“If you wanted to catch up you could’ve just sent an owl, Weasley.” Draco’s smirking.

Ron just stares, quill poised above the D-98 bibliography form.

When he seems to realize Ron isn’t actually joking he crosses his legs and begins. “I was, as you probably know, left poor and unpopular by the war,” Draco says, which Ron thinks is maybe the understatement of the year. 

“Since I really had no marketable skills and frankly didn’t find London to be the most welcoming of cities I chose to complete my doctoral work in the States. In Boston, to be exact.”

“Hold up, you have a PhD?”

“I earned excellent marks in school,” Draco says, rolling his eyes. “It would’ve been close between Hermione and I for top of the class if we both hadn’t, you know, dropped out of school before seventh year.” 

“But how did you get into an American doctoral program without finishing primary education?” Ron asks. The NUTSAC hadn’t been around then to facilitate transfers to non-wizarding institutions and now they usually make Hogwarts students at least attend university. 

“Oh, I bought a diploma online,” Draco replies. “You can buy anything on the internet Weasley, it’s preposterous that nobody teaches you about computers at Hogwarts. A real education gap, that is.” 

Ron nods rapidly in agreement because it’s actually been on his list, implementing computer training into the curriculum to aid in post-Hogwarts career development. 

“After graduation I chose to leave academia, as it were, and was recruited back to London for my current position in industry.”

“So you--um--work in the, laboratory, is that it then?”

“Yes Weasley. I work in the lab. I’m in the department of Experimental Biochemistry.” 

“And you don’t use magic?”

“No magic. Like I said, don’t even bring my wand to work. It’s too dangerous.”

“Ok. Well, unfortunately you’re very behind on your official licensure and I’m sorry to say that we’re going to have to meet regularly until you’ve caught up.”

Draco blows a strand of hair out his eyes. “Fine. I’m a regular rule follower these days.”

Ron actually doesn’t think he’s kidding. He opens his desk drawer and grabs parchment from several different folders, then retrieves a stack of scarlett colored overdue forms from a side table. When he hands Draco the not insignificant stack of paperwork he just stares at it in resignation. 

“Fill these out and please, follow the instructions carefully, lots of people forget to use their full names. You can schedule a follow up appointment once they’re complete.”

Draco gives him a small, pained smile. “Right. Wonderful. Looking forward to gracing you with my presence again soon.”

*

Ron’s kept a low profile since the war, rarely sees much of anyone from Hogwarts which is probably why he hadn’t known Malfoy was back in London. He’d bought a little bluestone cottage not far from the Burrow after working for a few years; it was a good price as the previous owner had died in the early 1900s and nobody had touched it since. He thinks it’s cleaned up nicely though and now it feels like home. 

His life has fallen into somewhat of a routine. He wakes up and spends an hour or so exercising; nothing major, but he has a set of weights that he messes around with and sometimes he skips rope or goes for a little jog. He’d basically only completed the bootcamp portion of auror training and had been pleased to finally put some muscle on his too-thin frame, especially when he’d realized how much broader and taller and stronger he was than Harry. Now he just tries to keep in fairly reasonable shape, enough so that the occasional partner he brings home is pleasantly surprised when he takes off his clothes. 

After exercising he fixes black tea, showers, dresses, packs his tuna salad on wheat, and walks the half mile to a portkey point which drops him directly in the ministry atrium. He spends his day talking to wizards about their non-standard careers and doing paperwork, always so much paperwork, and sometimes he sees Harry or Ginny in the hall or has lunch with his father. He chats with Margie who runs the mail room on the thirteenth floor and tries to set him up with her grandchildren and Eloise who maintains the records vaults and likes to bring him Hagrid-level-of-horrendous rock cakes. 

He works hard and he comes home tired, usually, with just enough energy to make himself dinner and pass out. Once a week he and Harry meet up for pints and it’s nice, even if Harry mostly talks about how many people he’s shagged that week or who of the new auror recruits is the most shaggable. Hermione travels so much for work that he only sees her about once a month, but he goes to the burrow every Sunday for supper and always brings the dessert because somehow he’s the only Weasley that’s picked up Molly’s penchant for cooking. 

And it’s fine. It’s great. Ron likes his life, even if it feels small sometimes, or at least smaller than he’d imagined it might be when he was running around with Harry at school. But he’s happy, and he’s especially happy to no longer be facing death on a semi-regular basis, so. It’s fine. 

*

Draco’s next appointment is in February and he visits Ron’s office for three consecutive Thursdays trying to sort out the paperwork. 

“They really put you through the wringer for a work permit, don’t they? It’s almost as though someone is worried I’m a former criminal who used to work for an evil maniac.”

“Um,” Ron says, watching Draco fill out a Q-72 with his best quill. Draco wears glasses for reading, Ron’s noticed. 

“Don’t worry Weasley, that’s a joke.”

“You’re hilarious,” Ron deadpans. 

Draco smirks at him before going back to the paperwork. “I can’t answer this question, I had to sign a non-disclosure when I joined R&D, trade secrets and all that.”

“Just put down ‘science’ for that one.”

“Seriously?” Draco says. “Someone’s going to look at this form and think, wow, science is a very legitimate and comprehensive explanation of research topics?”

“I review the forms,” Ron says.

“Are you bloody kidding me?” Draco throws the quill at Ron’s head and narrowly misses. “You might’ve mentioned that earlier Weasley, I’ve been filling these things out as if they might not get approved.”

“Well, they might not get approved!”

“Bullshit.”

“I’ve rejected applications before,” Ron says. “I had to deny one just last week.”

“On what grounds?”

“Uh, in that case they were hoping to open a muggle strip club staffed by goblins, but--”

“Oh come on,” Draco says. “I’ve been coming here for weeks, can’t we just wrap this up? I think it’s pretty obvious everything’s on the level here.”

Ron takes the stack of forms and flips through, making a real effort to look like he’s actually reading the lines and lines of Draco’s miniscule but neat handwriting. 

“Right. Well Malfoy, I’m pleased to say that the committee has decided to approve your application for a work permit.”

“Hurrah,” says Draco.

The truth is that he’d printed Draco’s permit before he even arrived for the meeting today but he doesn’t tell him that, instead he takes the permit out and acts like he’s filling it in before stamping it with his very official NUTSAC stamp. 

“There’s still the issue of you being in violation for nearly two years, however.”

“Weasley--” Draco sounds very, very strained. 

“But like you said, everything’s on the level. I think a probationary year with quarterly check-ins can address the problem, after that you’ll only have to come in annually.”

“Really Weasley, it’s quite fine to just owl if you’d like to see me more often.”

“Actually there was something I was, er, hoping to ask you about.”

Draco turns his full attention to Ron. 

“I’m putting on a job fair in two weeks at Hogwarts, it’s something that’s been in the works for quite a while.”

Draco almost looks disappointed. “Good lord Weasley, do they really think it’s wise to expose the students to you?”

Ron frowns. “Actually I was hoping you might come and give a talk.”

“Oh,” Draco says, “Well, that’s...I mean.”

“It only has to be a ten minute presentation, we really just want to plant the idea that you can find fulfilling careers outside of the magical community.”

“You think I find my job fulfilling then, do you?”

“Hermione says you’re very successful and an expert in your field, I thought you rather liked your job?”

It almost looks like Draco’s blushing but Ron would never be so presumptuous. 

“I think I can take the afternoon off,” says Draco. 

*

The night before the job fair Ron stays at the office until 11 p.m., photocopying and collating career guides and folding “Tips and Tricks to Ace an Interview with Muggles” pamphlets. The morning of he dresses carefully, wishing he had a slightly nicer suit instead of the secondhand tweed number he’d picked up at a muggle resale shop. Ginny says it makes him look like Professor Lupin. 

“That’s a good thing though, right?” he asks her, but all she says is, “You look much healthier than he did, broader shoulders, not a werewolf, you know.”

He arrives at Hogwarts half an hour early and is wrestling with a giant tri-fold poster board when Draco floos in. 

“Aren’t you a wizard?” Draco asks. 

“Er--” says Ron as the poster board collapses on top of him and he drops most of his pamphlets. 

“Merlin, Weasley,” Draco says and flicks his wand so that the pamphlets fly into a neat stack on his outstretched hand. 

Draco looks very professional, hair slicked back and wearing a nice pair of tailored trousers for once instead of jeans. Draped over his arm is--

“Is that your lab coat?” Ron asks. “I thought you complained the point of a lab coat was that it’s not to be worn outside of the lab! I thought you said doctors all look disgusting wearing their dirty scrubs on the underground!”

“Yes, well,” Draco says, “it’s important to look the part. For the students’ sake, that is.”

Ron notices a bit of paper clutched in the hand not currently carrying the pamphlets. “Malfoy, have you brought cue cards?”

“Not at all, don’t be silly,” Draco says as he stuffs the cards into his coat pocket. 

Draco looks almost as nervous as Ron feels. He’s been putting together this pilot program for over a year now and if it doesn’t go well then they may not ask him back.

All the worry is for nothing; the students love Draco and hang on his every word which is, of course, the only reason Ron allows him to go over his allotted time. It has nothing to do with the dreamy look on Draco’s face as he prophetelizes about a fall day in Boston and drones on about how his time in muggle education had turned his life around and made him appreciate his magic even more. Ron’s going to have to ask him back as a guest again because Herbert Bergstrom’s presentation on running a muggle grocery had lost everyone’s attention two minutes in. 

After the last question has been asked and Ron’s heart rate finally returns to normal, Draco says, “Fancy a drink in Hogsmeade?” and Ron surprises himself by saying, “Could use one, actually.”

Draco takes the tri-fold poster board from him and is saying, “You really care about this, the career things, don’t you?” when none other than Blaise Zabini shows up in the corridor. 

“Draco. Weasley.” 

“Hello Blaise. Care to join us in Hogsmeade?” Draco says, without even asking Ron, who in fact does not care for Blaise to join them in Hogsmeade. 

“Sure, it’s my off period.”

“Your off period from what?” Ron asks. 

Draco and Blaise both stare at him. 

“I’m the Hogwarts librarian, don’t you know?” Blaise asks. “Who did you think you’d been owling about extracurricular programming?”

“Um--” Ron says, but luckily before he can say anything particularly rude Blaise says, “Nice job, by the way, I’ve been trying to convince the headmistress that we’ve needed better career training for years now.”

“Ah, well, very good then,” Ron says slowly. “Let’s let Draco treat us to drinks and we can discuss further.”

They end up at The Three Broomsticks with firewhisky for Ron and Draco and a pumpkin juice for Blaise who reminds them sternly that he does actually have to go back to the school for the next period’s study hall. 

“Remember when you imperiused Madame Rosmerta here and Katie Bell almost died?” Ron asks, conversationally. 

“Don’t be mean,” Draco replies. Blaise’s cough sounds suspiciously like a laugh. 

Ron and Blaise quickly fall into a passionate conversation about how there really aren’t enough jobs in the wizarding community to sustain the economy and how it’s so important for young wizards to consider non-traditional career paths, and then start scheming on ways to secure ministry funding for a Hogwarts computer lab, and before Ron realizes it they’ve been talking for nearly an hour. 

Draco yawns loudly. “It’s great really, that you two have found one another, as now I don’t have to be responsible for listening to either of you.”

“Oh, but you care about this too!” Ron says. “I know you submitted paperwork to start up an internship.”

Draco blushes. “Do shut up Weasley, I only chose this job because I was ostracized by all of wizarding society following an ill-advised and misspent youth.”

“Come off it, Draco,” Blaise says, pulling his scarf around his neck. “You told me you were quite impressed with what Weasley’s office was doing.”

Draco glares daggers at Blaise. “Have to head out now myself anyway,” he says. 

“Beatrice?” Blaise asks, smiling.

Ron’s stomach does a weird little flip. 

“You know how she is,” Draco says with a wink before collecting his coat and heading to the floo point with a small wave. “See you next week Weasley.”

*

Ron owls Draco later and asks if he can pass along Blaise’s information so they can meet to discuss curriculum implementation, which they both know is completely unnecessary since apparently Ron has been owling Blaise for the past month. Draco doesn’t say that though, instead suggests that they should all meet up in Hogsmeade again next weekend, and somehow that turns into Draco and Ron meeting up weekly for drinks or a curry. 

Sometimes they talk about school, or the war, or the people they know that have died. About three weeks in a general consensus is reached that they were both kind of assholes with poor decision making skills as teenagers. Mostly though, they talk about work or the troll that escaped and wrecked havoc at the London Zoo or gossip about Blaise’s mother’s twenty-third (twenty-fourth?) husband. 

One evening they’re drinking beers when Draco says, “That Potter really gets around, eh?”

“Uh, yeah. I mean, I guess a lot of people are interested in Harry.”

“It’s ok to just says he’s a giant slut you know.”

“That’s--accurate.”

Draco takes a sip of his beer and squints at Ron over the rim of his pint glass. “I always thought that maybe, you and Potter?”

Ron flushes. “Oh no, I’m not Harry’s type.”

Draco raises his eyebrows. “It seems like everyone is Harry’s type.”

“Not me,” Ron says.

* 

In May Harry shows up at his office unannounced at 8:00 a.m. on a Thursday and, more than anything, Ron is shocked to see Harry awake before noon. 

“Right, I’ve got my first appointment in fifteen minutes so if you’re here to gloat about shagging the Cannons’ keeper you can bugger off,” Ron says. 

“Actually I’m here for a consult.”

Ron looks at him as if he’s suddenly sprouted a second pair of eyeballs.

“A consult? I was under the impression they mainly sent you off to tromp around in fields looking for escaped hippogriffs and such.”

“I do real work, Ron.”

Ron keeps staring.

“Most of the department is at a conference on magical geo-fencing so I’m taking on a slightly different caseload this week,” Harry concedes. 

“Fine. Talk fast or you’ll have to wait in reception until my appointments are finished.”

Harry perches himself on the edge of Ron’s desk, squashing an entire stack of recently completed work permits, and shoves a folder at Ron. It’s filled with print outs from _The British Journal of Magical Remedies_ , twelve or so articles all authored by a Rasmus Cornwallis. 

“Last week we confiscated some non-approved substances during a routine arrest and when Mysteries analyzed them they couldn’t figure out the source,” Harry says. “When they did the...substance analysis thingy...it came back as an unregulated potion that’s been described in one of these papers.”

Ron looks down at the articles again. The one on top of the stack is titled, _Infusion of Dreamless Sleep with non-magical additives_.

“Anyway, we can’t find any record of this Rasmus bloke. He could be international, or he could be unregistered. Either way these potions shouldn’t be on the street if they’re not approved.”

Ron nods. “So what exactly am I consulting on?”

“Well, the weird bit is he seems to be combining traditional potions with non-magical chemistry. I figured maybe he’d been through your office at some point, if he’d had non-magical training.”

“Sure,” says Ron. “I can look through the records, although we only started tracking that kind of thing a few years ago.”

“Thanks,” Harry says. 

He hops off the desk to leave and pauses, looking back over his shoulder with a hand on the doorknob. “Very enthusiastic, that Cannons’ keeper. Probably will floo her again,” and winks. 

*

At their June meeting Draco announces, “I’ve got a summer student, Errol. Also a wizard, he’ll be here through August.”

“I had an owl named Errol in school,” Ron says. 

“Bully for you,” Draco replies, sliding a completed I-28 form for sponsoring wizard interns across the desk. 

“He’s at university and has no lab experience so we won't be paying him.”

Ron frowns. 

Draco clears his throat. “Is that a Chelsea football scarf you’ve got in the corner there?”

“Ah, yeah, one of their players comes to the office, did you know they’ve got a wizard on the team?”

“I didn’t.” Draco sounds vaguely impressed. “I’ve got a television at my flat, if you fancy watching the match this weekend?”

“Er, ok,” Ron says. “That’d be great.”

Later, when he recounts the story to Harry over their weekly meetup, Harry says, “Draco’s a real nerd these days, isn’t he?” He takes a giant bite out of his burger and chews loudly and open-mouthed. 

“What?” Ron replies, because Draco isn’t a nerd, not really. 

“With the frumpy sweaters and the thick glasses and, you know, all the science talk,” Harry says as he shovels chips into his mouth and wipes a greasy hand on his jeans. 

Ron thinks about the cableknit sweater Draco had been wearing the last time they met, pressed collar of an oxford shirt just visible above the stretched out neckline, thinks about the elastic Draco always has around his wrist so he can pull back his hair when he’s working in the lab. Thinks about how when they’d met straight from work for drinks he’d still been able to see the indentations from Draco’s safety goggles around the corners of his eyes. 

“Maybe a little bit of a nerd,” Ron says, “but it’s--he’s ok.”

*

Ron’s apprehensive about going to Draco’s flat. Just because they have pints together once a week doesn’t mean that they’re friends or something, he doesn’t even go ‘round to Harry’s very often and they’ve been friends their whole lives. Still, Ron dutifully apparates to the address that Draco had scribbled on a bit of parchment for him, because he wants to watch this football game, that’s truly the only reason. He certainly didn’t spend a stressful morning trying on most of his closet before deciding on the faded Gryffindor quidditch shirt from sixth year, soft and worn through and yes just slightly too small, that he wears practically every weekend anyway. 

Draco meets him at the front door and looks...actually, disheveled and slightly surprised to see him. He’s wearing those dreadful reading glasses with his hair pulled back and has what looks to be pen ink smeared across one cheek. 

“Weasley!”

“That’s, er, me,” Ron says, handing him the six pack he’d picked up at the store on the corner. “Are you working? I could catch the game elsewhere.”

“No no, I need a break, I’ve just lost track of time, come in,” Draco says. “Sorry about the mess, I’d meant to pick up before you arrived.” Draco’s running around the living room, collecting a large number of papers and books off of the coffee table and attempting to subtly shove them underneath a couch cushion. 

“ ‘s alright,” Ron says, hands in his pockets, “Harry’s got two house elves and his place is still always a wreck.”

That makes Draco smile. “I’ll just pop this beer into the refrigerator then, make yourself comfortable.”

Ron takes in the living room; he’d maybe expected something modern but instead it’s homey, warm and comfortable with an overstuffed sofa and quilts tossed haphazardly all over the place. He almost does a double take when he notices an overweight basset hound snoring loudly in an armchair. Immediately he realizes that there’s dog hair absolutely everywhere; on all of the furniture, on the area rug, coating the plush dog bed in the corner. 

Now that Ron is paying attention he notices when Malfoy returns from the kitchen carrying two pints that his navy sweater is even looking a little furry. “Is that--do you have a dog, Malfoy?”

“I am watching Beatrice for a colleague whilst he’s on sabbatical,” Draco replies. 

“Oh! That’s Beatrice?” Ron’s stomach does a pleasant dip. 

“I didn’t name her Weasley, and please don’t even think about waking her up or else you’ll be the one taking her for a trot down the road.”

Ron quickly withdraws his outstretched hand from where he was about to scratch her flank. “And how long has she been staying with you?”

“Well.” says Draco. “Two and a half years.”

“You have a dog!” Ron exclaims. 

Draco throws himself down into the recesses of his enormous sofa. He’s barefoot, Ron notices, and his jeans are rolled up at the bottom, too long. 

“Are you going to continue to stand there and yell or should we watch this match?” Draco asks. 

Draco turns out to be a great viewing companion; he knows a reasonable amount about the game but his unabashed enthusiasm catches Ron off guard. When the other team pulls ahead at the 85 minute mark he throws his scarf to the ground and stomps on it before getting them each another beer from the kitchen.

“This is utter bollocks,” Draco says dejectedly when the game’s ended and Chelsea has lost. “Have you ever thought of joining a recreational league?” he asks. “Maybe that would be more fulfilling than being devastated weekly by this garbage?”

“Well, I played in a quidditch rec league for a while,” Ron replies. 

“Oh?” says Draco, “No offense but you were really quite bad at school. Very inconsistent.”

“Yeah, well, I actually did alright in the rec league, I think most people were pretty inexperienced. Also, I wasn’t singularly harassed every game.” Draco becomes very interested in a loose thread on his sweater. “We had to disband though.” 

“Disband?” Draco asks. “That sounds extreme.”

“Harry shagged most of our team so we kept having to forfeit when people wouldn’t come back.”

“Yikes,” says Draco. 

“When he broke his broom over the head of an opposing team’s captain that really sealed the deal, we weren’t allowed to re-enroll the following season. Shame, because Harry’s actually really great at quidditch and all, probably should’ve gone pro instead of pursuing the auror bit.”

Draco takes a long drag of his beer, then reaches down to give Beatrice a boost up onto the couch. She settles with a huff across both of their laps, one paw digging painfully into Ron’s ribs.

“Are you hung up on Harry?” Draco asks, not meeting his eye. “It’s only that, you talk about him nearly constantly.”

“Harry’s my best friend.” Ron says. “And, er--really one of my only friends. We spend a lot of time together.”

“That’s true.” says Draco. He turns to Ron but continues looking down to where he’s scratching behind Beatrice’s large ears.

“Right,” Draco says. “So you’re not Potter’s type, but how would you feel about being mine? My type, that is.”

Ron’s literally speechless. In the resulting silence all he can hear are Beatrice’s little hiccuping snores. 

“Nevermind then,” says Draco, “You can just forget-”

“No!” Ron says, rather louder than he intended. “I’m--glad to hear, that I’m your type.”

“Really?” Draco says with a small smile. 

“Well.” Ron says, before leaning in to kiss him. Draco actually doesn’t taste great, mainly like beer, but it’s still a good kiss and Draco’s responsive under him, let’s Ron pull his hair out of it’s little bun so he can get his hands in it and kiss Draco even more deeply. 

The kissing is nice but it’s slightly difficult to do anything more with sixty pounds of drooling fur separating them and Ron is relieved when Draco gives the dog a little push and says, “Maybe let’s get some privacy, yes?”

By the time they’ve made it back to Draco’s bedroom and Ron’s got him stripped down to his boxer briefs all he can think about, as he looks at Draco’s pale limbs splayed across the bedsheets, blonde hair curling around his neck and jawline, is that Draco’s by far the most beautiful person that Ron’s been allowed to touch. He gets his own shirt off and Draco wraps his hands around Ron’s arms, drags one down the plane of his stomach to unbutton his jeans. “That’s good, very good Weasley,” he says. “Freckles,” he mutters. 

Ron doesn’t often sleep with people he intends to see again so he’s nervous enough that when Draco hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers and says, “Do you want to fuck me?” he panics and replies, “Actually I was just hoping I could--” before leaning down to take Draco’s cock into his mouth. 

Apparently it’s the right thing to do because Draco just moans and twists one hand in his hair, the other coming down to scratch gently across Ron’s shoulders. Ron spends a while mouthing at Draco’s sharp hip bones which makes him pull frantically at Ron’s hair, say, “Don’t tease, c’mon.” When Ron licks down to take Draco’s balls into his mouth he shouts and wraps a leg around Ron’s back so he can pull him in closer; when Ron makes his way back up to suck on the head he says, “Weasley!” and comes. 

Afterward Draco says, “Do you mind?” and pads over, long legs and pert ass nicely on display, to let Beatrice into the room from where she’s been scratching at the door. “I have to lock her out otherwise she’ll flop down and take up the whole bed, it really ruins the moment.”

Ron just smiles and doesn’t mind at all when Beatrice worms her furry body in between the two of them. “We should do this again,” he says. 

*

In early July Harry shows up in Ron’s office again to check on the potions case. He’s been rambling on about the multiple false leads they’ve followed up on and is in the middle of detailing a pretty outlandish theory involving Snape’s ghost when he says, “Oi, Ron, are you even paying attention?”

Ron has not, in fact, been paying attention; instead he’s been thinking about the truly spectacular sex he’d had last night with Draco in his bathtub. Draco’s flat only has a shower and he’d been delighted by the enormous clawfoot tub in Ron’s house, delighted by Ron’s house in general. 

“I never would have pegged you for the type to keep a proper home, Ronald,” he’d said. 

“I cooked you dinner three times last month,” Ron had replied. “My mother raised me to be good at household things.”

He’d been worried for a second that Draco was going to sneer, maybe start teasing him, but instead he’d said, softly, “It’s nice. You’re--nice,” and pushed up on his toes to kiss Ron.

“But really, four bedrooms is a lot just for you, isn’t it? A nice yard though, I’ll have to bring Beatrice over,” Draco had said, against Ron’s mouth. 

And Ron’s not stupid so he hadn’t said anything about how he imagined he might fill those bedrooms, one day, even if it’s been a murky fantasy since the day he’d bought the house, linked tenuously to a childhood with his parents and his brothers and their full, happy home. 

“Do give me the tour,” Draco had said, and that’s how they’d ended up in the tub, Draco in his lap, Ron grinding slowly up into him as water splashed over the edge. 

He’d bitten the back of Draco’s shoulder as Draco had said, “Fuck. It’s--everything’s too slippery, I don’t think I’ll be able to--”

Ron wrapped one hand more tightly around Draco and gave him a rough squeeze, then reached down to carefully push a finger into Draco alongside his own cock. 

“Seriously Ron, are you listening?” And yeah, he should probably pay attention to Harry. 

“Are you shagging someone?” Harry asks. 

“Hmm?” says Ron. 

“You’ve got some sort of love bite on the inside of your wrist there, haven’t you?”

“What? No no, that’s from Ginny’s kneazle last week, don’t you remember?”

Harry just stares at him and pushes his glasses up on his nose. 

“Anyway, regarding the case, I looked into the records like you asked. Definitely no Rasmus. There’s actually only a handful of registered scientists.”

Ron opens a crimson folder on his desk. “One of them is deceased, can’t be him, another two live in the States so probably rule them out, and the last one is Draco Malfoy.”

“A-HA!” Harry shouts. 

“You can rule him out as well,” Ron says. 

“Not a chance.” Harry has hopped out of his chair to pace across the small space of Ron’s office excitedly. 

“No, really, he’s compliant, he’s been in the office nearly a dozen times this year already.”

“Has he then?” Harry asks, stopping to turn and smirk at Ron. “You see a lot of him outside of work too, don’t you?”

“We have a cordial relationship. Anyway, I think you’re looking for someone unregistered.”

Harry gives him another long look. “A kneazle, Ron, really?”

*

One afternoon, when he’s spooned up behind Draco in bed after he’s eaten his ass until he’s dripping, loose and open, after he’s bitten wet bruises into the insides of Draco’s thighs, Ron says, “What do your co-workers think this is?”

He’s referring, of course, to Draco’s mark. He rubs his thumb across it gently, cupping Draco’s fine wrist with the rest of his hand, and presses his lips to the back of Draco’s neck. The dark skull is sharp against Draco’s pale skin and Ron wonders if it’s the reason he wears so many sweaters.

“They think I’m something of a badass, actually,” Draco says, sheepish. 

“Like a murderous badass?”

“Maybe. Or maybe more like a, I don’t know, a goth. They think it’s some heavy metal thing, Harold from accounting got me a Black Sabbath poster in the office secret santa last year.”

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Ron says, “Have they met you?” He stares at Draco’s long eyelashes where they’re fanned out against his cheek. “You put bows on your dog for Merlin’s sake.” 

“I do not,” Draco says, but he relaxes a little bit more into Ron’s arms. 

*

He’s at Sunday supper at the burrow and Molly’s just brought the meatloaf to the table when the owl arrives. A ministry owl, Ron recognizes from its navy blue and gold embroidered quilted waistcoat, and one of the perks of his job is that he never, ever gets asked to work on weekends. 

“Must be for you, Ginny.”

“ ‘s not,” she says around a mouthful of mashed potatoes. 

Sure enough the owl lands on Ron’s shoulder and sticks out a leg so he an remove the attached piece of parchment. 

_“Ron- Draco’s at St. Mungo’s, accident at his work. HP”_

Ron jumps up so quickly he nearly knocks over the table. 

“Really, Ronald!” Molly shouts. 

“Sorry mum, I have to, I--” he takes a deep breath. “I have to go, I’m sorry. I’ll firecall later,” and he apparates. 

He hits the St. Mungo’s apparition point and is surprised to see that Ginny’s grabbed his arm and come by side-along. 

“It isn’t Harry,” he says, and she gives him a funny look. 

“I assumed it’s Draco? On account of how you’re shagging him.”

“I’m--what? Who told you that?”

“It’s not a secret, Ron.” She grabs the sleeve of his robe and starts gently guiding him down a poorly lit hallway. “Potions damage ward I would guess, what do you think?”

They finally find a mediwitch who can direct them to the correct room, although she only discloses his location after Ginny flashes her auror badge so Ron guesses it's fine that she came along. When they arrive there’s a spotty teenager waiting in a chair outside, sniffling into his coat sleeves. 

“Who’re you?” Ron says. 

“I’m Errol,” he moans miserably. 

“The summer student?”

“Yup,” says Errol. “I’m really sorry Mr. Weasley, it’s all my fault, he warned me to add acids to water but I got confused and did it the other way around, I promise it was an accident!”

Ron just stares at him. 

“Are you going to arrest me?” Errol asks.

“I’m not an auror,” Ron says, but tries to stand up a little bit taller.

“I am!” says Ginny, cheerfully. Ron had forgotten she was there. 

“But I’m not going to arrest you Errol. Why don’t you tell me what happened to Mal--to Mr. Malfoy?”

“There was an explosion!” Errol wails. “The healers said it will take all night to regrow his epidermis!”

Ron feels like he might be sick and is looking around frantically for a wastebasket when Harry finally shows up. 

“Alright there, mate?” Harry thumps Ron on the back roughly which really doesn’t help with the potential vomit situation. 

“You can go in, he’s asleep. The healers say he probably won't be up until the morning though.”

“Did you floo his parents?” Ron asks. 

Harry gives him a funny look. “They’re not allowed to enter the country.” 

“Right. I guess I’ll just--go inside, then?”

Harry nods at him encouragingly. Ginny gives him a much gentler pat on the shoulder and says, “I’ll go back and tell everyone you’ve had to come in for a work emergency.”

Somehow Draco looks even worse than Ron’s expecting. Most of his right side is wrapped in thick white bandages. His face, also partially bandaged, is even paler than normal. Ron notices his reading glasses sitting on the bedside table, one side of the frames warped and melted, and that’s what does him in; luckily he makes it to the wastebasket in time to vomit up his Sunday meal. 

“Really Weasley, that’s disgusting. This is supposed to be a sterile facility,” a voice croaks from the bed. 

“You’re supposed to be asleep!” Ron frantically tries to wipe his face with the back of his sweater sleeve before sitting down in the hard plastic chair next to Draco’s bed. 

“Yes well, someone was retching in the corner and it woke me up.”

He stares at Ron with his one unbandaged eye. “Do I really look that hideous?” he asks, quietly. 

Ron starts to reach out before realizing he’s not sure where it’s safe to touch Draco, but before he can retreat Draco grabs him with his good hand and laces their fingers together. 

“You actually mostly look like a mummy right now.” Ron replies. “Errol says you’ll regrow your epidermis overnight.”

“Yuck,” says Draco. 

“Are you in a lot of pain?”

“Oh yes Weasley, it’s quite horrible. I honestly don’t know if I’ll make it, and to emerge so horribly disfigured from an accident--well, they really ought to award me an Order of Merlin for this ordeal, don’t you think?

Ron can feel a small smile starting. “So just the usual drama then?”

“I’ll be fine,” Draco says. “Occupational hazard.”

“In that case we can get right to the real reason I’ve shown up which is the paperwork associated with a work-related incident, obviously.”

Draco grimaces. “If you say the word paperwork in here again I’m ringing for the healer and having you thrown out for harrassing me.”

“I thought you quite liked me harassing you?” Ron says, wiggling his eyebrows. 

“Ah, well,” says Draco. “But actually, you can’t stay.” 

Ron feels his stomach drop. “Of course, if you don’t want me here I’ll go--”

“Shush,” Draco says, “it’s just that someone has to check in and feed Beatrice, and she doesn’t like to sleep alone so you’ll have to lay down in the bed with her for a little while.”

“Of course,” says Ron. “And what about Errol? He’s been outside the door waiting for you to wake up for hours.”

“Tell him I’ll see him Monday and we’ll be reviewing acid base interactions, please.” Draco gives Ron a small smile and a gentle pat to the hand. 

If Ron also adds a few a stern words of his own that set off Errol’s tears again, well, nobody really needs to know. 

When he stops by St. Mungo’s the next morning before work he’s shocked to see Hermione sitting next to a nearly healed Draco. There are actually a surprising number of floral arrangements in the small room and Ron tries to discreetly read the tag on one that looks suspiciously like his mother’s handwriting. 

“When did you get here? Thought you were in Romania until next month.”

“Just this morning,” Hermione says, “it was in the Daily Prophet you know.”

“Oh. Well, it’s, uh, good to see you--”

“Shut it Ron, I know you’re shagging.”

“What?” squeaks Ron. “Why does everyone know?”

“Because you’re very obvious about it and also because Draco and I have been pen pals for years, ever since he turned down my offer to join the ministry research division.”

“You what now?” Ron says. 

“I’m doing lovely, my new skin is only slightly pink, thanks ever so much for asking Ronald,” Draco interrupts from where he’s propped up against several pillows. He’s got the melted reading glasses on and is looking at a folder opened across his lap. 

“Hermione,” Ron says, “please tell me that you’re not actually here for a consult the day after my--after Draco nearly got blown up.”

“Fine, I won’t tell you.” she says. “Harry wants to have dinner tonight at that atrocious Italian place he takes people on dates, I expect you to be there and to pretend to enjoy it.”

She turns to Draco. “He says you would be invited too but he suspects you’re far to injured.”

“Pity,” says Draco. 

*

The fall is uneventful, after that. 

He deals with a couple of interesting cases at work, including a witch who wants to perform with Cirque du Soleil (approved), a pair of goblins who submit a petition to open a daycare (denied), and a young wizard who wants to join his American muggle school’s fraternity (also denied, but mostly on principle). He successfully hosts another job fair at Hogwarts once the new school year begins and Draco, perhaps emboldened by his previous popularity, is an even bigger success than during his first visit. 

Ron cooks dinner for Draco most nights, or sometimes they meet up with Harry or Blaise at the pub. They have their first row when Draco lets Beatrice use one of Ron’s favorite t-shirts as a drool rag; another time, Draco doesn’t speak to him for nearly twenty-four hours after he says something mean about Crabbe. 

One weekend Draco gets tickets for a Chelsea match from work. Before they leave for the game Draco casts a no-notice charm on Beatrice and then glamours her to resemble a giant rucksack for good measure. “You can’t seriously be considering smuggling the dog into a football match,” says Ron. 

“What? She gets bored and lonely.”

“She stays home while you’re at work and sleeps twenty-three hours a day, I’m sure she’ll be fine.”

“She enjoys the hot dogs at Samford Bridges though.” Draco tugs the ends of Ron’s Chelsea scarf, brings his face down close enough to kiss. “Don’t worry Ronald.”

There’s an early cold spell in September and Draco spends most of it at Ron’s house, on account of what he calls “an excellent fireplace set up” and also on account of the excellent shagging that occurs nearly nightly. 

“I’m not that flexible,” Draco says as Ron’s trying to hook both of Draco’s legs over his shoulders so he can drive into him even deeper. 

They’ve spent most of the day in bed, curled together under the quilt Ron’s mum had made for him two Christmases ago. Beatrice is curled up next to the roaring fire and it could be mid-afternoon or midnight; Ron’s lost all concept of time, lost all concept of everything that isn’t Draco.

“Fine, fine, here just--” Ron pulls out and turns Draco onto his side so he can situate Draco’s thigh across his hip and fuck into him in short, shallow strokes. Draco’s breath is warm and humid against him and Ron can’t help himself from licking across his open mouth, sucking his plush bottom lip between his teeth. 

He adjusts the angle a bit, grabs a handful of Draco’s pale ass, leans further down to mouth at Draco’s earlobe. “That’s--yeah, right there,” Draco gasps, and comes all over his stomach.

So yeah, that’s autumn.

*

Harry sends him an owl mid-November inviting him to an auror meeting to review the illegal potions case. There’s really nothing for Ron to contribute anymore but things are always slow in his office around the holidays, not many people starting new jobs, so he puts it on his calendar. 

“Ah, Ron’s here, we can get started,” Ginny says when he walks into the small meeting room. It’s just her, Harry, and an auror in training that he thinks is named Thomas. Maybe-Thomas looks fresh out of Hogwarts and is staring at Harry with big, round eyes. 

“Ok, so the number of illegal potions we’ve been confiscating has really ticked up in frequency, we think there’s an increasing market for them given that it’s flu season again,” Ginny says, gesturing to a white board where a running tally has been kept. “The most recent one we picked up is a mix between muggle cold medicine and pepperup potion which unfortunately causes a robust hallucination that one is totally nude and unable to become dressed, weirdly only in a small percentage of people, but enough to be a problem.”

Maybe-Thomas is furiously scratching notes in the corner. Ginny continues, “Harry has been in charge of trying to locate the source by attempting to purchase potion and I think he has an update for us.”

Harry stands up and clears his throat. Ron mouths at Ginny “he still does this?” and she just rolls her eyes in response. 

“I began trying to purchase potion beginning on the fourteenth of August,” Harry says, monotone. “I first attempted to purchase the potion from Mundungus Fletcher which was unsuccessful. I next tried to purchase the potion from Hank Abbott which was also unsuccessful. Then I tried to purchase the potion from--”

Ginny interrupts. “Harry, if you could skip ahead to maybe the most relevant details? Just for the sake of time, I’m sure Ron wants to get to lunch.”

“Right,” says Harry, and puts down his stack of notes. “I was eventually able to purchase the potion through an owl service; apparently it’s delivery only. We had a trace on the owl and it only made one stop, at a small cottage outside of Dorchester.”

“So you’ve caught them! Great job, Harry, I knew you could do it.” Maybe-Thomas looks like he’s going to hop out of his chair in excitement. 

“Not exactly,” says Ginny. “The cottage was abandoned and nobody has returned since we’ve been keeping watch. We’re also having a difficult time tracing the owner, but so far everything suggests that Rasmus is merely a pseudonym. ”

“Rats,” says Thomas.

“Exactly,” Harry responds. 

*

It’s early December and Ron’s mum has been bugging him for weeks already about Christmas, saying things like, “You can bring around anyone you’d like to dear, you know we’d love to have them!” and “Really, nobody should be alone at Christmas.” He certainly hasn’t mentioned a word about Draco to her, but. Draco’s parents are technically banned from the UK and have spent the last several years on the coast of France. Draco complains, frequently and vocally, that he hates the French, so Ron has been thinking that it might be nice to at least extend the invitation. He’ll certainly refuse but Ron should ask. 

There’s already a light dusting of snow on the ground as Ron makes his way to Draco’s flat and the forecast promises even more tonight, Beatrice is not going to be happy. He loves the snow though, and the twinkle lights that Draco’s muggle neighbors have hung in their windows. His mood drops instantly, however, when he opens the door and sees boxes everywhere. 

“What’s this?” Ron asks. 

It’s too many boxes to be Christmas deliveries, way too many boxes, and he can see several of Beatrice’s squeaky toys spilling out of a box with “Bea” scrawled on the side in Draco’s tiny, neat handwriting.

“Are--Draco, are you moving?”

Draco is spelling packing tape onto a box labelled “Potions Sundry”. His hair is pulled back from his face and he’s wearing the Cannon’s jumper that Ron’s been missing for weeks, the one Draco had sworn he hadn’t seen. He looks great, actually, and Ron’s heart is beating out of his chest. 

“Well, not exactly, but I’ve been meaning to talk to you about this job in Belgium--”

“You’re moving to bloody BELGIUM?” Ron belatedly realizes that his voice is quite a bit louder than it ought to be. 

It’s a mistake and he can tell that now Draco’s angry, his cheeks beginning to flush and one hand going up to his hip which is never a good sign. “And what if I am, Weasley?” 

With a flick of his wand he spells another box shut, eyes never leaving Ron’s. There’s Christmas music playing tinnily in the background and the tree that Ron had helped him put up last weekend is blinking in the corner and quite frankly Ron wants to die. 

“When were you going to tell me this?” Ron asks, quietly, “or were you just planning to disappear without saying anything at all?”

“Is that something you think I’d do?”

“I don’t bloody well know, I just walked in on you packing up your entire flat, I’ve seen you three times the past week, and not once did you think it was important enough to mention then!”

“I see,” says Draco. “Maybe I would’ve mentioned last night, only I didn’t see you after you cancelled our dinner plans to see Harry.”

“What’re you on about, you know that Harry was having a rough night!”

“We’re calling being rejected by Matthew from Muggle Affairs a rough night now, are we?” 

“Oh come off it,” Ron shouts, “being jealous has never suited you!”

Draco blinks rapidly and pockets his wand. He walks right past Ron to grab a coat from the rack by the door, one of the few things not packed. It’s also Ron’s coat and when he puts it on the sleeves hang down past his hands. Ron can feel himself slowly deflating.

“What’s there to be jealous of, Weasley? It’s just you.”

And then Draco leaves, and slams the door, and Beatrice looks at him with droopy eyes that seem to say, “Can you believe that guy?” so Ron grabs one of her toys from the box and her bag of food from the kitchen and apparates them both back to his house, because who knows when Draco will be back. Even with the dog snoring peacefully at his feet, Ron barely sleeps. 

*

He’s in a foul mood the next morning; his first appointment of the day is a young witch who’s been performing contraception spells at a muggle women’s health clinic and Ron yells at her until she cries. He feels terrible about it because he can’t really blame her, can he, but the whole situation is going to require about fifty different forms and a team of obliviators and he just. Can’t. 

He’s in the middle of filling out the R0-7 supplemental form for Inappropriate Healthcare Administration when Harry bursts through his office door and throws himself into the chair in front of Ron’s desk. He seems...kind of shifty actually, and isn’t meeting Ron’s eyes. 

“So, we tracked down the deeds for the secret lab,” says Harry. “It was tough because the cottage was built in, what, the eighteenth century? And it had never been sold, just inherited.”

“By whom?” Ron asks eagerly. He’s still secretly convinced that Millicent Bulstrode could be behind the whole thing. 

“It initially was owned by a member of the Black family.”

“Like Sirius?”

“No,” Harry says. “The thing is Ron, that it was passed through a matrimonial line of inheritance. That is, through the mum’s side.”

Ron just stares at him. “I think you mean maternal.”

“Ah well,” Harry clears his throat. “It turns out that--well, it turns out that the house belongs to Malfoy.”

The bottom drops out of Ron’s stomach. “Lucius?” he asks, hopefully. 

“No Ron. I’m afraid the lab belongs to Draco.”

“Well crap,” Ron says. He thinks back to months ago when he’d brought up the case to Draco, curled in bed after a particularly enthusiastic round of sex. Draco had just given a non-committal “hmm” and said if he had anything to contribute he’d let Ron know, and then he’d drawn two of Ron’s fingers into his mouth and stroked them with his tongue and needless to say Ron hadn’t really followed up.

“C’mon then.” He suddenly feels resigned. He’s certain he’s about to watch Draco be killed by Harry Potter. They’ll go to Draco’s house and once Harry tries to handcuff him and the inevitable violence ensues, Harry will kill Draco and it will end up in the tabloids as a whole thing and then probably his mum will find out that him and Draco have been shagging for the better part of a year. 

“I can take you to his flat. Although, we had a bit of a row last night so I’m not sure his wards will still let me in.”

“What, you’ve broken up?” Harry says. 

“We--what?” Ron says. “Whatever, let’s just go bring him in.”

They apparate directly to Draco’s doorstep and Ron half hopes that he’s already left and is on his way to Belgium. He raises his hand to knock but Harry’s already ringing the bell, over and over, yelling “Open the door! Aurors! Open the door!” and this is really why Ron quit the force, he looks positively crazed. 

“Why don’t you give him a second, he’s probably packing,” Ron says, trying to bat Harry’s hand away from the buzzer. 

Instead, Harry breaks down the front door and the wards immediately start alarming as he runs inside. 

“We’re onto you, Rasmus!” he yells at full volume, directly into Draco’s face since it turns out he was on his way to answer the door after all.

“Potter, you sodding idiot, I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about!”

“Malfoy, I’m here on behalf of the Ministry of Magic to arrest you on crimes violating the--oof,” Harry grunts, as Draco pushes past where he’s blocking the doorway to confront Ron. 

“And what are you doing here?” Draco says. “Following Potter around again already? Couldn’t just let me bugger off in peace, could you Weasley?”

Ron just stands there dumbly and watches Harry sneak up from behind Draco’s turned back to grab his arms and frog-march him into the kitchen. “As I was saying, I’m here to arrest you on crimes violating the Safe Substances Act of 1742 and to remand you into ministry custody to await hearing. Anything you say can and--”

“Oh shut it Potter, have you been watching muggle television with Granger? Aurors aren’t even supposed to say that, everyone knows they just administer veritaserum once you get to the ministry so you’ll spill the beans.”

Harry takes a second to look abashed before he says, “Right then, we’ll just get on with it,” and casts an apprehension spell, which Draco ducks. It hits and shatters an overhead light instead. 

A tussle ensues as Harry attempts to cast a binding spell and Draco simultaneously tries to disarm him. Both of their wands fly out of their hands and then they’re lunging for one another and they both go down. Ron watches, resigned, as they roll around, bits of shattered glass flying amongst them, Harry batting Draco about the ears and Draco trying to pull Harry’s auror robes over his head. Harry keeps yelling “You’re under arrest, Malfoy!” and Draco says nothing on account of his mouth being full; his main defensive move seems to be biting. 

“SOD OFF, BOTH OF YOU!” Ron shouts. 

They pause to look up at him from where they’re intertwined on the floor, and if Ron and Draco were still shagging then Ron might feel jealous about the way Draco’s leg is hiked up around Harry’s waist. Harry’s got a bite-mark shaped bruise blooming on his forearm. 

“You--” he points to Draco, “are you going to come in, willingly, and sort out all of this Rasmus nonsense. And you--” he points to Harry, “are going to get up and let Draco come in of his own accord, he’s not a dangerous criminal for Merlin’s sake.”

“Could be though,” Draco says. 

Ron picks up Draco’s wand off the ground and pockets it. Then, feeling as though he’s lost control his own body, he retrieves Draco’s knocked-off reading glasses and gently sets them back on his nose. “Yeah, I’m not actually worried.”

Malfoy deflates, says, “Alright then,” and lets Ron lead him out of the flat with a gentle hand low on his back. 

“Have you only been fucking me so I would be too blind to realize that you’re a wanted criminal?” Ron asks tiredly. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, we have great sex,” Malfoy says. “I’ve been fucking you because you’re actually really fit.”

“Er,” says Harry. “Maybe I should just meet back up with you two at the ministry, Ron?”

“I really haven’t a clue what you’re talking about,” Draco says. “I told you that first day in your office, didn’t I, that I’m a rule follower now.”

“I remember,” Ron says. “But if it wasn’t you then I’m not sure why you decided to flee the country for Belgium.”

Draco stares at a point just over Ron’s shoulder. “I wasn’t fleeing; I told you months ago that I was unhappy that my position in industry didn’t allow me to publish as much as I liked. Were you even listening to me or were you too distracted by my prick?”

“Really, we can all just rendezvous back at auror HQ,” Harry says, more loudly. 

“Of course I was listening,” Ron says, “But just because you don’t like your job doesn’t mean you have to fuck off to another country.”

“Well you were supposed to stop me, weren’t you,” Draco says quietly. “You were supposed to tell me to stay to help you fill up your drafty old house and eventually resign ourselves to boring missionary sex.”

“That’s it, I’m just bringing you both in by side-along,” Harry says before he grabs ahold of them both and apparates. 

*

Draco isn’t entirely wrong; they do, typically administer veritaserum at the Ministry, but only with signed consent by the accused party. 

“It’s fine,” says Draco. “I’ll do it. Although maybe someone other than your best friend or your baby sister could be in charge of the interview?”

“I’m twenty-five,” Ginny says. “And unlike Harry I’m actually very professional in handling job related matters.”

She takes Draco into an interview room and Ron, unsure of what do with himself, wanders down to the canteen for tea and a tuna sandwich that is overpriced and dreadful compared to his usual. When he comes back they still haven’t finished so he stations himself on a couch that probably came from the same dark artifacts raid as the one in his office and reads a back issue of Witches Weekly. He’s just started an alarming article describing a threesome Harry allegedly had with both beaters from the Harpies when Ginny finally emerges, Draco in tow. 

“Alright,” she says, “you can take him home now.”

“I--what?” 

“I’ve gotten the information that we need and you can take him home, he’s still slightly under the influence so he really shouldn’t be left alone.”

“But he’s Rasmus,” Ron says. 

“He’s not.” Ginny rubs a hand across her forehead. “It would seem that Draco has been leasing his family’s cottage for some years to Millicent Bullstrode.”

“I fucking knew it,” Ron yells just as Harry finally shows up. 

“Knew what? Oh hey, is that the article about me and the beaters? Total foxes, the both of them.”

“Merlin,” says Ginny. 

“I’d like to go home now,” says Draco, who really does look quite out of it. 

“Well, you can floo yourself home and continue packing for Belgium,” says Ron.

“Ronald! He’s very vulnerable right now, someone could easily take advantage.” Ginny looks scarily like their mum but since Ron values his life he doesn’t mention it. 

“Fine, he can come with me and sleep on my couch. And then leave for Belgium in the morning.”

*

Draco does not leave for Belgium in the morning. 

“What’s going to happen to Millicent?” he asks Ron, who has begrudgingly made him not only tea but two fried eggs, toast, and a sausage. Beatrice had been delighted to see him arrive last night and currently has her nose tucked underneath his arm, although that could be on account of the sausage. 

“Probably just house monitoring, and suspension of her potions license. It’s not like she’s dangerous, they brought her in willingly last night. But--”

“Go on,” says Draco.

“There’s going to be a fine,” Ron says, “And they’re confiscating the lab.”

Draco sets down his knife and fork. “You mean the equipment?” 

“No, the physical lab. The, er, building I guess. And the equipment. Really they’re just taking all of it, the Ministry’s pretty pissed.”

“Great,” Draco says. “You realize that the Ministry has confiscated every piece of property I’ve ever owned?”

“Sorry.”

Draco sighs, runs a hand over his eyes. “I wasn’t actually going to move to Belgium, you know.” He picks at a string on the sweatpants Ron had lent him for sleeping. 

“I’d taken the job but I was packing because I had planned to kick Millicent out of the cottage and move back in so that Beatrice could have some outdoor space. The commute wouldn’t have been terrible, they’ve got an international floo.”

“Ah.” Ron shoves a piece of dry toast into his mouth to stop himself from shouting something silly like, “Why didn’t you just say that in the first place?”

Draco still isn’t looking at him. “And then you showed up, and did all that yelling and didn’t even give me a chance to explain. And stole my dog. I thought, why not move to Belgium after all? Apparently nothing to stick around for.”

“I see.” Ron can hear the kettle boiling over on the stove behind him and Beatrice still has her nose pressed up against Draco’s side, the traitor. 

“Now I suppose I haven’t got a choice.” Draco finally looks up to meet Ron’s eyes and he doesn’t look angry like he had at the apartment, he just looks sad. 

“What about the option of, how did you phrase it, staying in my drafty old house? Is that off the table then?”

Draco scratches Beatrice behind her floppy ears and Ron feels one socked foot reach across underneath the table to rest on his. 

“I suppose, being recently rendered homeless, I could give that a try.”

“Just for a trial period, maybe,” Ron says, corners of his mouth barely hitching up.

He can see the small smile on Draco’s lips even though he’s lifting his mug to take a sip of tea. “Yes, just a trial.”

**Author's Note:**

> Who would've thought that in the year 2018 I would think, "Self, do you know what is a very productive thing to do when you're meant to be writing your dissertation? Probably writing your first story in the Harry Potter fandom, twenty years post publication! And why don't you choose a fairly unpopular pairing to really draw people in?" yet here we are. So thank you, truly, for indulging me.


End file.
